Sins of Omission
by Memento Mori
Summary: Snape is summoned by Dumbledore to find out why Harry hasn't been returning his friends' letters. The result is Snape appearing on Harry's doorstep, bringing with him confusion, chaos, and some very odd behaviors. Will not be a very happy fic.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Well, well, well, looks like another Snapefic. When summoned by Ron and Hermione, Snape heads off to 4 Privet Drive, from which no word has been received since the beginning of the summer holidays. The result is an unfortunate and revealing encounter with Harry's family, a rather disheveled Harry himself, and a very surprising Snape.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, the Durselys and anyone else I mention in this fic that has already been published is not mine. A damn shame, too, because that would mean I was a successful author in the real world and making money. But I'm not. I'll deal. The one bright spot is that if you _don't_ recognize anyone I may mention, they probably belong to me. ::Facefall:: however...since this _is_ fanfiction, I _still_ can't make money off them. ::sigh:: Oh well...enjoy the fic, I'm going to go stare at my dwindling bank account.

Sins of Omission

-MM-

Chapter 1: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

~*~

Damn and blast. All of them and all of it. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hogwarts, Weasley, Granger, and most of all that wretched boy.

Snape fumed as he sat on the train to London, his fingers twitching in his lap. He all but snarled as two terrified first years skirted around him as they crept through his compartment. Bad enough he had to take the student's train back to the city, but it was the reason _why_ that irked him.

It had been almost a month into the summer holidays when Snape had received the summons back to Hogwarts. Upon his arrival, Dumbledore had greeted him with a somber look and a letter in place of his usual smile. That had been Snape's first sign that something was about to go very badly for him.

How right he was.

"I have just received word from Mr. Weasley- the younger- and Miss Granger." The Headmaster had told him. "It seems they are most worried about their friend Mr. Potter and request immediate assistance. Although it behooves me to ask you this-"

"Why can't you send McGonagall?" Snape interrupted, knowing what the Headmaster was going to say. "Or Hagrid? Or even you-" He stopped himself in mid-sentence, realizing he was on the verge of impertinence.

Dumbledore frowned. "Minerva is on holiday somewhere in Scotland," he told Snape. "Hagrid is nowhere to be found, presumably he is off somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, preparing for next year's class. I would go myself," he said with a level stare that was not lost on the Potions Master, "but that would leave no one here at Hogwarts. You are the only one who I can get a hold of in such short notice, and I fear the matter is urgent to the point where it cannot wait." The blue eyes never flinched. "The school term has ended and I cannot force you to do anything you don't choose to, Severus. But I am asking you. As a favor to me, would you investigate this matter? If there _is_ something wrong with the boy you know that now is not the time to risk ignoring it. Voldemort is growing in power each and every day and we can _not_ let even the slightest possibility for risk go unchecked." He held the parchment out to Snape, his blue eyes pleading where his voice would not.

Snape stared at the Headmaster for a moment more, but he could not bring himself to deny the man who had done so much for him. Frowning, he took the letter with his fingertips and unfolded it. Hermione's neat, straight lettering stood at attention on the parchment.

__

Dear Headmaster, it began.

_We do not wish to disturb you this far into your well deserved summer holiday, but we feel that this matter is of some urgency and may require immediate attention_._ You are most likely aware of Harry Potter's home situation, and we do not wish to bother you with details_._ However, until this point in time we have been receiving regular letters from Harry via owl post_._ Last week, the letters stopped_._ We have sent several owls with letters voicing our concern over the matter, but they have all been returned unopened and unread_._ Although it may be a fluke of some kind and no cause for worry, there is always the threat that something unfortunate has happened to Harry and we would like to request assistance from a qualified teacher or similar authority_._ Either way, please return a letter with Pig_.

__

Thank you for your time-

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.

Snape frowned as he read the letter again. _We have sent several owls_..._they have all been returned unopened and unread_. He handed the letter back to Dumbledore, the storm already gathering on his face. He looked at Dumbledore for a long time until he finally sighed. "When do I leave?"

Now, as he sat silent and foreboding on the student train, Snape felt the first bands of pressure gathering behind his eyes, the sure sign of a buggeringly nasty headache on its way. He clenched his fingers over his wand and tried to drown out the shrieks of a group of first years.

Ordinarily, there wouldn't even _be_ a train running this late in the year. Not right in the middle of summer holiday. Luckily for Snape, or perhaps not so luckily, this year was different. A group of first and second years had remained an extra month at Hogwarts for a special trip with Hagrid and were just now returning to their homes. As a result, Snape saved himself the energy associated with Apparating, but was forced to endure the antics of students who- in _his_ mind, at least- were too young to even be let out into the world.

_Whap!_

Snape reeled as something hard and feathery hit him in the side of the head. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the tiny little bird that had the gall to consider itself an owl. He stopped himself with his hand half raised to strike, wand ready in his fingers. Weasley would already not be pleased at the thought of having to meet his sour, grim-faced Potions Master at the King's Cross; finding his owl dead at said Potion Master's hand would likely send him through the roof.

"You'd better be in serious trouble, Potter," he breathed. "Or you're going to wish Voldemort got his hands on you before I'm through." Even now he winced as he spoke his Lord's name, fearful that the Dark Mark would once more blaze and send its searing pain through the length of his arm. He ducked as Pigwidgeon came zipping through the compartment again. He grit his teeth as his headache really took hold. "Yes, Potter. This had _better_ be worth it."

***

"Name of Merlin, wouldn't you know it. Sir Slytherin himself."

Snape stepped off the train at King's Cross and immediately swung his gaze around to locate the owner of the voice. A flash of bright red hair caught his eye and he walked over to where Hermione Granger was elbowing Ronald Weasley in the side.

"Professor," Hermione said brightly, her bony elbow still digging into Weasley's ribcage. "I'm so glad Headmaster Dumbledore was able to find someone who could come. We were worried..." she bit her lip and trailed off, glancing quickly at Ron, then back to Snape. "Anyway, I'm glad you could come." She gave Ron a particularly hard jab and the youngest Weasley boy scowled darkly and nodded in dubious greeting.

"Through no desire of my own, let me assure you." Snape scowled to match Ron and picked up his valise. "Let's get on with it." He noticed Hermione eyeing his robes as she opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. "_Mutanis vestia_," he murmured, and his robes shimmered and molded themselves into a Muggle outfit of black trousers and shirt with a leather belt and boots to match. "Well?"

Ron's scowl deepened, but Hermione simply turned and walked towards the barrier between the platforms. Snape picked up his case and followed silently. The sooner he could be done with this, the better.

It was Mrs. Granger who was waiting with the car- a perfectly normal, made-for-the-ground car. Snape put his case in the trunk and took a seat in the front, nodding vaguely towards Hermione's mother.

"You must be Mr. Snape," she said, as brightly as her daughter. Snape felt his jaw beginning to ache with the effort of keeping it clenched over the many retorts he longed to utter. Instead he simply nodded again and sat back without a word. He saw the woman glance back at her daughter questioningly, but Hermione simply shrugged and mouthed something that look suspiciously like: _normal_.

_What do you know about normal?_ Snape wanted to ask, but kept his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted or needed was to be exchanging verbal parries with her of all people just then. _Just do what you need to do and be done with it, Snape_, he told himself.

"Hermione's told me so much about you," Mrs. Granger said, glancing back at her daughter through the rear-view mirror. "She says it's wonderful having such a brilliant man in such an important position at the school."

Snape caught sight of Hermione through a reflection in the windshield and noticed she was turning a particularly unbecoming shade of red. He rolled his eyes in a way that no one would notice and made some noncommittal sound.

"I admit I don't know a thing about what goes on in your school, or even in your particular society. But the way she tells it, your subject seems to be one of the most crucial in- er- your...world." She trailed off, embarrassed as Snape simply stared straight ahead. Hermione had turned the color of Ron's hair and was slowly sinking down into the seat.

_Come off it, child_, Snape thought. _As if I cared what you say about me, good or bad_. He tried to hide a yawn and wished he knew how much longer the trip was going to take. Maybe it would have been worth it to Apparate after all.

Behind him, he felt rather than saw Ron lean over to whisper in Hermione's ear. "It's gonna be a long ride," he said quietly, but not so quietly that Snape couldn't hear.

_For once, Mr_._ Weasley, you and I are in complete agreement_.

By the time they arrived at the Granger residence, Snape had his hand in his pocket and was fingering the smooth wood of his wand. It would be so easy- one word and all his problems would disappear. Just one word...but then there would be the problem of explaining to Dumbledore exactly _why_ two of his students were no longer students. Or, for that matter, human. Still, it was an amusing thought; two perfectly ordinary- silent- salamanders sitting in the back seat of a perfectly ordinary Muggle car.

It was a good thing Snape was never one to give in to temptation.

"Would you like me to bring your things to your room, Mr. Snape?" Hermione's mother asked as they all headed into the sitting room. Snape stared at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your- ah- room."

"Thank you, no. I will not be needing a room as I will not be staying long enough for it to be of any use. I plan on leaving as soon as I receive the details of Mr. Potter's predicament from your child and her friend."

"Oh..." Mrs. Granger exchanged an uncomfortable glance with her daughter. "I'll just leave the three of you alone, then," she said. "Can I get you anything before I go? Tea, something to eat?"

"We'll be fine, mum," Hermione said, jerking her head surreptitiously towards the door leading from the sitting room. "I'll let you know if we need anything."

"Of course, of course. Well...I'll just be off now..." Mrs. Granger smiled awkwardly and nodded again to Snape before ducking out the door. As soon as she had gone, Snape turned on Hermione and the as of yet silent Ron.

"Let me tell you something right here and right now," Snape hissed through clenched teeth. "I've no time for games. Tell me what I need to know so I may see if I can remedy the problem and be on my way."

"Why you great, greasy bas-_Ow!_" Ron was cut off abruptly as Hermione stamped hard on his foot. "What?"

"You just keep quiet," Hermione told him. She frowned and turned to Snape. "Believe us," she said quietly. "I wish I could tell you we weren't serious, because that would mean we'd know Harry is okay. But I honestly don't think he is." She handed him a sheaf of papers that had been sitting on a nearby desk. "He usually sends letters at least three times a week since the beginning of the holidays, but they were getting stranger and shorter as time went on. Three weeks ago they stopped entirely. We sent a few owls with messages of concern, but they were brought back." She stopped to clear her throat, and Snape was surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes. "Those are the last letters he sent."

Snape turned his eye to the papers in his hand. For the most part, they were similar to the letters all students write to their friends, giving and asking for news, sharing memories of the previous year and hopes for more in the next. But the writing became stilted as he moved down the pile, the notes shorter until they were barely more than sentences scribbled on scraps of parchment. As he came to the last one, he frowned.

_Glad you're well_, it said, the letters blurry and smeared. _Can't write much now_._ I'll be in touch soon_.

__

-Harry

"This is all?" he asked, looking up.

Hermione nodded, still wiping tears from her eyes. "That was the last we heard from him. You don't think- I mean, You-Know-Who can't have-?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "Albus wouldn't let something like that happen, and even if it had, we'd have known about it by now." He folded up the letters and handed them back to Hermione. "I suppose Albus was right. This could be serious." He took a deep breath, knowing he was going to regret his next words. "I'll leave tonight to go over and check on him," he said. "If he's in any sort of trouble, I'll see what I can do."

"Professor, thank you!" Hermione squealed and threw her arms around a startled Snape, who disentangled himself with a look of disgust on his face. She did the same to Ron, who looked equally put out. "You've no idea how much better this makes me feel. I'll go tell mum you'll be leaving tonight, though she'll probably insist you stay for supper. This is wonderful!" She skipped out, leaving Snape alone in the room with Ron.

"I'll have you know," Ron growled, as soon as Hermione was out of sight, "if anything happens to Harry, I hold you personally responsible. If you lay so much as a hand on him-"

"Mr. Weasley," Snape said sharply, staring down at the boy. "I am here at Dumbledore's _request_ and nothing else. If you'd like, I will pack up and leave now, straight back to Hogwarts." Ron maintained a sullen silence. "Well?"

Ron glared a moment longer, then shrugged. "Fine. But only because Dumbledore trusts you. But that doesn't mean I do."

"I wouldn't expect anything else from you," Snape told him and lapsed into an unshakeable silence until Hermione and her mother joined them.

Supper was an ordeal rather than an affair. Dampened by Snape's rather sour disposition, the Grangers were oddly subdued. Ron didn't say a word the entire meal; he simply sat there and glared at Snape, his hand poised ominously over his knife. Only Hermione chattered away unconcernedly.

When the hellish meal finally ended and Mrs. Granger drew herself into the kitchen to clean up, Snape decided it was at last time to go. He thanked the Grangers rather stiffly for their hospitality and nodded his goodbyes to Hermione and Ron.

Drawing his wand from his pocket, Snape stepped out into the cool night air. It felt like the first time in months since he had a moment to himself just to clear his mind, though it had only been that morning that Dumbledore had summoned him to the school. As he pulled out his wand, Snape yawned hugely. He was tired and would easily have put off his rather daunting task until another day when he was rested, but he had made promises both to Dumbledore and that Weasley brat.

He murmured the words that would take him to the address where Potter was at and gestured with his wand. If only he hadn't made those damned promises. Although they were not proper wizard vows, Snape could no more break a promise he gave than he could remove his own hand. Still, as the world fuzzed and swirled around him, he cursed the day he had received the summons back to Hogwarts. Cement formed under his feet and soon he was staring at a perfectly normal house, its windows dark and silent.

_This had better be worth it, Potter_._ This had _better _be worth it_.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Things That Go Rat-tat-tat in the Night

~*~

_Rat-tat-tat_.

"Mph?"

_Rat-tat-tat_,

"That you, dear?"

"Eh? Petunia?"

_Rat-tat-tat_.

"Do you hear that noise? It sounds like someone's knocking at the door."

"Who the blazes could that be? It's one o'clock in the morning!"

"I don't know. Should we just ignore them? It doesn't sound like they're going away. Maybe we should go see who it is, I don't want the noise to wake up Dudley-kins."

"At this hour? They're probably trying to sell us something. Or convert us. Or rob us, even."

_Rat-tat-tat_.

"But why would they knock if they were going to rob us? Go see who it is, just peek out the window if you have to. They don't seem to be going away otherwise."

"Alright, fine, I'll go see. You stay here and be ready to get Dudley in case something happens."

_Rat-tat-tat_.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." _Creak_._ Shuffle, shuffle_.

_Rat-tat-tat_.

"Hold your bloody horses, I'm moving as fast as I can!"

_Rat-tat-tat_.

"I'm _coming_. Hold on, you bloody-"

"_Alohomora!_"

"Vernon? What's going on? Vernon, what's happening? _Vernon?_"

"Petunia- good God, Petunia! It's one of _them_!"

***

The door flew open and Snape found himself face to face with a rather tousled and sleepy-eyed Vernon Dursley. Upon seeing the scowling Potions Master, the man stepped back, his eyes wide.

Snape brushed past him without waiting to be invited in. He had no time for such cordialities. "Where's Potter?" he asked, his black eyes scanning the house as if though he expected the boy to jump out from the shadows at any moment. "What's wrong with him?"

"I- I- now see here!" Vernon blustered, trying to retain some of his tattered dignity as he clutched his dressing gown closed over his pajamas. "You can't just come barging in here like this, in the middle of the night and start making demands. You've no right!"

"Demands?" Snape narrowed his eyes at Vernon. "I haven't made any _demands_ as of yet, but if you insist, I will. I _demand_ to see Potter this _instant_, and if you decide to keep me from doing so I assure you I will find a way around you in a manner _most_ unpleasant." His scowl deepened. "I've not had a good evening, and my patience is wearing rather thin. I _suggest_ you find Potter and bring him to me. Now."

Vernon was not a man who took well to orders. Or, more to the point, he was not a man who took well to being _given_ orders. His face turned a startling shade of red, then purple. "Who the hell are you to think you can come in here and start giving _me_ orders?" he began, but Snape cut him off with an imperious gesture.

"Not only is my patience waning, but so is my time," the Potions Master hissed as he drew his wand. "Your nephew may not be permitted of his wand while outside of school, but I assure you I am under no such restraints. Now for the last time, get me Potter, or, all else failing, take me to him." His hard black eyes stared down at Vernon, who at that moment felt very small and vulnerable in his thin dressing gown and paisley pajamas. He made as if to protest yet further, but a threatening gesture of Snape's wand made him swallow whatever it was he was going to say.

"Upstairs," he said shortly, scowling under his heavy black mustache.

"Take me there," Snape told him, ignoring the thunderclouds gathering on his beefy face. "I want to be done with this whole affair as quickly as possible."

Muttering under his breath, Vernon lead Snape up the stairs. Half way there, a wild haired Petunia met them on her way down and let out a startled screech when she saw Snape.

"Vernon, what's going on here!?"

"Go into the bedroom, Petunia," Vernon told her, casting a nervous glance back at Snape. "Go and lock the door. It's one of your sister's kind, he wants to see her son. There's nothing I can do about it, he can use- magic. Go and get Dudley, lock yourselves in the bedroom. Go."

Petunia stood a moment longer, watching Snape and her husband, her lower lip trembling. When neither Snape nor Vernon gave her any sign of either encouragement or threat, she let out a trembling wail and fled back up the steps. Snape could hear her footsteps, the slam of the door and the sound of a deadbolt sliding home. Vernon glanced back at him and he motioned impatiently. Time was wasting.

"That way," he said, pointing down the long hallway to a door all the way on the end. His finger trembled as he pointed. "Last door on your right."

Without a word, Snape walked past him and tried the door handle. Locked. Vernon probably expected him to come back begging for the key. Snape allowed himself to smile at that; only rarely did wizards need keys. He reached into his pocket for his wand, but didn't even bother to take it out as he spoke the word that unlocked the door. There was a click and a scratching sound that extended all the way down the door. Only then did Snape notice the solid line of padlocks and deadbolts that ran the height of the door, to be unlocked only from the inside. He frowned- something was definitely fishy here.

When all the locks had been turned, Snape tried the door again. It still wouldn't budge. Alerted by a scuffling and banging coming from behind him, Snape turned just in time to see the tail end of Vernon's dressing gown disappearing into the bedroom, the door shutting firmly behind him. Well, that was one less thing he had to worry about.

But the door. He glared at it, ran his fingers over the locks and wood, tapped it with his fingers, snarled at it, and finally kicked it. No good.

"Dammit, Potter, there had better be a _very_ good explanation for all of this," he muttered as he nursed his aching foot. "I do _not_ have time to stand around playing silly buggers with a damn _door_. Open, damn you!" Not a thing. Finally, Snape's patience ran out. Snatching his wand out of his robes, he pointed it at the door and snarled, "_Reductio!_"

With a loud _bang_, the door exploded into the room as it was blasted to pieces by the energy coming from Snape's wand. Scowling, Snape re-pocketed his wand and strode into the smoking wreckage, eyes darting from side to side as he strove to see into the blackened mess.

"Don't tell me he set me on an empty room!" he growled. "Of all the harebrained schemes I-"

"P-professor?"

Snape ceased his tirade and whirled to face the direction of the voice. "Potter?" He peered into a dark corner by the rooms only window. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

"Professor Snape? Is that really you?" The voice from the floor sounded faint even to Snape's keen ears. "What- what are you doing here? I thought Ron and Hermione-"

"They asked Dumbledore for help, and he sent me here." Snape's voice was curt as he struggled to see past the dust and smoke kicked up from the door's rather violent demise. "Confounded dust- where _are_ you?" His eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the gloom. They fell on a small, huddled bundle in the corner. At first he thought it was a pile of old clothes, but as he looked closer he realized that it was in fact Potter himself.

He looked up at Snape pitifully, his eyes sunken in his gaunt face. It was hard to tell in the pale moonlight, but it looked as if his eyes were ringed with bruises obtained from lack of sleep. Merlin knew Snape was familiar enough with those. He leaned his head back against the wall as if the weight of it was too heavy for him to hold up on his own. "Professor-"

"In the name of Merlin, boy," Snape interrupted. "What _happened_ to you?"

A/N: Is it just me, or did I just write part of this like a bad sci-fi movie? "...good God, Petunia! It's one of _them!_" ::snicker:: How much more cheezy bad action/alien/horror flick can I get? Oh well...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: For Better, For Worse; In Sickness and In....More Sickness

~*~

"You could have knocked," the ashen faced boy said as he tried to stand, but fell back against the wall. He grimaced in what was obviously pain.

"What _happened_?" Snape demanded again more forcefully, ignoring Harry's weak attempt at humour. "What is going on here? What's wrong with you, boy?" Harry shrugged weakly and closed his eyes. Snape crossed the room in a few long strides and knelt down beside the shadow of a boy. He placed his cool fingers on Harry's brow, frowning at the heat he felt radiating from his skin. "_Mala locus_," he murmured, brushing his wand over Harry's huddled body. A faint aura of reddish pink surrounded him, appearing more crimson in the areas around his head, chest and stomach.

"Wha-?" Harry opened his eyes, startled by the appearance of the red cloud.

"You're sick," Snape said, pocketing his wand as the cloud faded. "Dammit, boy, you'd better tell me what happened. And you can start with why you locked yourself in here when you're obviously ill and in need of proper medical care."

Harry stared at Snape as if though he had not heard the words, or if he had heard, not registered their meaning. He opened his mouth once or twice as if to speak, but no sound emerged. He simply stared at his Professor with pain filled eyes. Just as Snape was about to lose his patience completely, they both turned as they heard a horrified gasp from the doorway. Vernon Dursley stood in what remained of the doorframe, eyes wide as he stared at his nephew. Relieved to find someone else to take his frustrations out on, Snape rose and descended on Vernon like a deranged raven. As much as he would have liked to, even Snape had to admit that would be unfair to blame Potter for his misfortunes.

"Out. In the hallway. Now." Snape didn't wait for Vernon to respond, he simply grabbed the man by the collar of his dressing gown and hauled him out into the empty corridor. Luckily, Vernon was too shocked by his nephew's appearance to resist. Otherwise, Snape would have had a difficult time getting him to budge an inch, judging by his girth. Although nowhere near the size of his own son, Vernon Dursley was still a solid man and Snape doubted he could have physically handled him even when at his best. Which he was not.

"Explain," he snapped, shoving the larger man against the wall. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"I don't know-" Vernon began, eyes still wide and unfocused. "I just don't know. He's- I don't- I-"

"You have got to be _joking_!" Snape snarled viciously and whirled around. "First I'm summoned back to the school in the middle of holiday to check on a boy I would rather see turned into a newt," he growled as he paced the narrow hallway. "Then I have to deal with his irritating little companions and their equally irritating guardians. Now I come here and find the boy himself locked in a room while he wastes away for some reason I can't even begin to guess at! Does somebody mind telling me _what in the name of Merlin is going on here?_"

The last words were shouted from a distance of mere inches away from Vernon's now pale face. Snape lowered his voice as his eyes narrowed. "I figured that maybe- just _maybe_- his own bloody family will be able to tell me something as to _why_ at least, he is in the state he is. But no. Nothing. Not one bloody thing."

"Now hold on a minute!" Vernon roared, his fear overcome for the time being at Snape's implications. "You presume he's like that because of something _we_ did?" He drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't very much compared to Snape's imposing form. "I haven't touched that boy since he came back from that blasted school of his! Barely even spoke! We have an agreement in this house- the boy keeps quiet and stays out of trouble, we don't bother him. Just as long as there's none of that foolishness you- people- meddle in!" His face reddened with the effort of his shouting. "He locked _himself_ in that blasted room! We never had anything to do with it! He just-"

But Snape had ceased to listen after Vernon's last statement. He froze in mid-stride, turning his head to stare at the blustering Dursley. "He- what?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. "He locked _himself_ in there?"

"Of course!" Vernon gestured angrily to the wreckage of the door. "Didn't you notice the locks were all facing _in_?"

Snape spun around, eyes wide as he mentally berated himself. He had seen the locks but hadn't registered the implications. He gave himself a mental shake- he was obviously more tired and drained than he had thought. It was unlike him to miss such an obvious incongruity.

He knelt and picked up a fragment of the door, no more than a mass of splinters. Well, whatever evidence the door had once given, it was lost now in a pile of kindling-

_Idiot!_ Snape clenched his fists at his sides and would have slapped himself in the forehead had Vernon not been watching. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door. "_Reparo_," he said, ignoring Vernon's gasp of outrage as the door magicked itself back to its original form. He needed rest and soon. His mental weariness was beginning to show as he forgot even the most elementary of spells.

Back turned Harry's uncle, Snape bent to examine the door more closely. Nearly two dozen locks ran from the top of the door down to a point mere inches from the floor. Looking more closely, Snape saw what had foiled his attempts at more mundane methods of entering. The boy had done something to the latch itself, adhering it to the doorframe. No amount of unlocking would break through that seal.

"Impressive," he muttered. But why? Why go through so much trouble to keep people out when he was so blatantly in need of medical attention? Mysteries upon mysteries.

"Professor?" Harry's weak voice drifted out into the hallway, wrenching Snape from his contemplation. Cursing, he realized with a start that he had forgotten all about the boy himself.

"Can you walk?" he asked, kneeling beside the sickened boy. Harry shook his head, wincing at the pain the simple movement caused.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't even think I can stand at this point." Sweat beaded his brow as he fought back pain and waves of nausea.

Snape scowled, but his expression softened as he took in Harry's thin face and trembling limbs. "Fine. That means I'm going to have to fix you up here and now." He sighed.

"You can't just give me a potion to stop whatever's making me feel this way?"

Snape gave him a Look. "Do you think I just carry a complete supply of potion around with me wherever I go?" he asked slowly, as if though speaking to a very small- or very stupid- child. "Dumbledore didn't tell me _what_ was wrong, just that something _might_ be wrong. I don't even he knew what to expect." Snape drew his wand for what felt like the countless time that evening. His hands shook marginally as he leveled it at the body on the bed. He had done far more spell casting than advisable considering his current state and, drained as he was, he feared that pushing his limits would result him collapsed on the floor beside the bed, of no help to _anyone_.

For now, he pushed his fatigue aside and concentrated. "You're going to feel dizzy," he told Potter. "Like the walls are spinning and the floor dropped out from under you. It's likely that you're also going to be sick. If it gets to the point where you feel as if you're going to pass out, let me know immediately. The spell won't do a bit of good unless the subject's conscious and there's a very good chance that it'll do more harm than anything."

Potter nodded, his face ashen. "Just do it," he whispered as he closed his eyes against another wave of pain and nausea. "I don't know how much longer I can stay awake."

Snape wasted no time. He drew the sleeve of his robe tight around his arm and held the wand gently in his fingers. The spell he was about to attempt was by no means an easy one, and he would not have been completely comfortable about casting it even with full resources. As it was, there was no help for it. The boy had to be cured and there was neither time nor means to brew him a potion to do the job. Snape took a deep breath and readied himself for when the floor dropped from under his feet-

"_Terminus Malordium_," he intoned, holding the wand a few inches above the boy's body. The red cloud returned, covering Harry with its eerie glow, but Snape was too busy to notice. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he felt as if someone had taken the room and shaken it, tossing its living contents around like so many dried peas. Somehow, out of sheer practice he managed to keep his feet and slowly drew the wand up and down the length of Harry's body, knowing the boy was feeling the same way. As the wand passed over the areas where the sickness had taken firmer hold, the red mist began to congeal and gather together like beads of vaporous mercury. "_Recipe,_" he muttered. Take thou. The red streams began to rise from Harry's body and flow into the tip of Snape's wand. As that began to happen, Snape felt as if though his arm was being torn from his body. It began to clench and shake, the violent tremors spasming through his entire body. He grit his teeth and held on, biting back small sounds of pain. Halfway through- two thirds- the pain was getting worse and he didn't know how much longer he could keep his feet- three quarters of the way- damn, but it _hurt_- almost done- almost- just a moment longer-

_There_. Snape allowed his arm to fall as the last traces of the cloud were absorbed into his wand. Sweat matted strands of his long hair to his forehead and drops of it stung his eyes. He wiped his sleeve over his brow and waited.

Harry opened his eyes, slowly, and took several deep shuddering breaths. "Is it over?" he whispered. Snape nodded, relieved to hear that most of the hoarseness was gone from his voice. But getting the sickness itself out was only half the problem. He couldn't very well leave the boy here in the room, and certainly not alone with the family that had allowed him to arrive at that sorry state. Not until he had found some answers, at least.

Snape made up his mind. "Do you trust me?" The question was sudden, abrupt. It took Harry quite by surprise.

"Huh?" Harry's eyes were glazed as he stared up at his Potions Professor.

"Do. You. Trust. Me? It's not exactly a difficult question." _Or maybe it is_..._moreso than I would ever expect it to be_._ That Weasley boy wouldn't hesitate to tell me to go soak my head, but Potter has been known to be surprising now and again_...

"I- yeah, I guess I do." The blankness hadn't quite left his eyes yet, but it was obvious Harry knew what he was saying. But what affected Snape tenfold more was the hesitance in the boy's voice, the unsureity. _I may be curt, nasty and downright _mean, Snape thought to himself as he readied his wand. _But do they really think that I would actually _harm_ one of my own students? They fear me as a teacher- but as a man? Don't they know I would never, _never_ physically harm a child under my care? Not even when I was De-_

"Good." Snape broke his own train of thought before he entered realms he wasn't prepared to handle. He would be no good to the boy if his attentions were directed at beating back ghosts of his past. "I'm going to put you in a full body bind, then use the Mobilicorpus spell to bring you to a different room. If you're not comfortable with this-" Snape's face twisted at the words, each one a more than bitter pill, "then I'll use more conventional means."

"No- I trust you." Harry's words were surprising, but even moreso was the conviction with which he spoke them. He grimaced. "Besides, anything you do to me isn't going to be half as bad as how I feel now."

"Try and relax, then." Snape held his wand out and murmured the words that would lock Harry's body in a ridged paralysis, allowing him to cast the next spell. "_Mobiliscorpus_," he whispered, and slowly led the floating body from the room. As he walked, Snape tried not to look at Harry's frozen face- his eyes were open and unmoving, the most unnerving thing about the full body bind. In retrospect, Snape wished he had instructed Potter to close his eyes before casting the spell.

They passed Vernon Dursley out in the hallway. The man's eyes bulged at the sight of his nephew hovering above the floor and opened his mouth, but could make no sound other than a choked whimper. He gaped like a fish yearning for water; Snape paid him no mind but continued on into the only other open door. The master bedroom. As Snape directed Harry's body onto the large bed, Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spluttered, following close on their heels. "You can't just bring him in here!"

"Sir." Snape turned to face Vernon, his black eyes blazing. "This boy is still sick. If you wish to have a death on your hands, fine. Leave him in that room. As long as I am present, however, and as long as I am responsible for the boy, he remains in here."

"But- but where are we expected to sleep, then?" Vernon protested, trying to find a way to get both the man and the boy out of his room.

"I noticed a perfectly serviceable couch on my way in," Snape said, mercilessly. "If not, there is always the floor. Enough!" he snapped as Vernon opened his mouth to protest still further. "I am running out of patience with you, sir. If you wish to remain whole, healthy and in full command of your facilities as a human being, then I recommend you get out. Now." Exasperated, Snape turned his back quite deliberately on a shocked and speechless Vernon, ignoring the man completely.

"_Finite Incantatum_." As he spoke the words, Harry's body abruptly lost its stiffness and fell the few inches down to the bed. "Potter?"

Harry looked up at him and shrugged. "I'm alright," he said, running his hands over various parts of his body as if to make certain he was in full possession of himself again. "It was a little strange, but I guess I'm okay now." He seemed to suddenly realize where he was. "Uh- is this...am I going to be-"

Snape guessed what he was going to ask and saved him the trouble of completing the sentence. "Your uncle won't be a problem, if that's what you're worried about," he said smoothly. "He and I have reached an- agreement of sorts." He heard Vernon's muffled burst of outrage behind him and smiled thinly. The smile faded as he scanned Potter's thin body on the bed. "Are you coherent enough to tell me what happened?"

Harry's eyes grew wide with- fear? surprise?- and glanced quickly over at his uncle. Snape thought he understood. "He doesn't need to be here," he assured the boy. "If you don't want him present, I'll send him away."

"Now see here!" Vernon tried to regain his composure after being dressed down by a strange man in his own house. "The boy is under my care and is my legal responsibility. If he has anything to say, he can damn well say it in front of me."

"_Silentus_."

Abruptly, Vernon was moving his mouth, but no sound came out. He blinked, did a double take and stared with horror at Snape as he opened his mouth in what appeared to be a scream. A silent scream. Eye bulging, Vernon turned a rather interesting shade of red, then white as the blood drained from his face. Without wasting another second, he turned and ran from the room. Harry chuckled appreciatively, but the sound was weak and hoarse.

"Will that wear off?" he asked, his voice suddenly hinted with real worry. The thought of his uncle a permanent mute was not something Harry wanted to experience.

"Yes." Snape gazed at the door Vernon had fled from, a slight smile on his face. "Eventually." His eyes grew serious as he turned them back on the boy in the bed. The piercing stare was enough to make Harry shudder. "I think, Mr. Potter, it is time for you to tell me what's been going on here. From what I've seen, the events are...highly unusual. Start from the beginning."

"I'm going to need to start from much farther back than that," Harry informed him grimly. "Unless Dumbledore has already filled you in on the history of my not so ideal family life."

"Not Dumbledore. Your friend Miss Granger." _There, got you one, Potter_. Harry blinked in surprise, taken aback.

"Hermione?" he asked, incredulous. "What did Hermione have anything to do with this?"

"Use your head, Potter," Snape snapped at him. "She and your friend Mr. Weasley wrote to Dumbledore asking for assistance. He, in turn, sent me. Or did you think that I just happened to show up on your doorstep when you needed assistance?"

Harry had the grace to look ashamed. "I wasn't thinking," he admitted. "Put it down to the sickness. I wasn't thinking straight much at all, I guess. Sorry."

Snape cursed himself mentally as Harry apologized. He hadn't meant to snap at the boy, but the pounding in his head had grown considerably worse since he had finished the healing spell. All he wanted to do now was find a dark hole to curl up in and sleep for a year or two. He wouldn't say no to a bath just then, either. But he had things to take care of first.

"How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged. "Alright, I guess. I don't hurt anymore, but I still don't feel great. I'm really tired, too."

"Side effects." Snape tried to stifle a yawn. "You won't feel back to normal for another few days at least. What I still need to know is how you came to be like that in the first place. However-" He held up his hand as Harry opened his mouth to explain. "That can wait until morning. If you are feeling well enough to sleep without waking, I'm going to retire for the night."

"But- where? And what about my uncle and-"

"They won't be a problem," Snape told him. At Harry's questioning look, he allowed himself another small smile. "Dumbledore himself would have a difficult time getting through the wall of charms I put on that door. They won't be bothering anyone until morning." He placed his wand on the bedside table and switched off the light. There was a blanket on the foot of the bed, and Snape used this to make himself a makeshift bed on the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but tired as he was, Snape could have slept on concrete and not cared.

Before he closed his eyes himself, he listened to make sure Potter's breathing was slow and even, not harsh or gasping. Satisfied that he would be alright until the morning, Snape closed his eyes and allowed sleep to finally overtake him, hoping against hope that morning would never come.


End file.
